


Just a broken boy

by Dahlia_Rose_83



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depressed Harry, House Elves, Kreacher worries, Letters, M/M, anonymous correspondence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 17:11:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17812067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dahlia_Rose_83/pseuds/Dahlia_Rose_83
Summary: A year after the war Harry is hiding away at Grimmauld Place, feeling broken and bitter. Until he suddenly starts receiving anonymous letters.





	Just a broken boy

**Author's Note:**

> I hate those ideas that just pop into your head and make you start writing without thinking it through first. That's what I did here. Well, at least it got me writing again. The story ended up consisting mostly of letters, which wasn't planned at all. And I'm not sure about the ending. At first I wanted to write more, but then I kind of liked this end. 
> 
> Also a big sorry to everyone who keeps waiting for the last part of my "Choice" series. I still haven't gotten started. Work keeps getting in the way :(

 

HARRY POTTER SIGHTED IN BRAZIL - DAILY PROPHET READER MATHILDA MACINTOSH RAN INTO OUR SAVIOUR LAST WEEK DURING A BUSINESS TRIP TO BRAZIL. READ THE EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH MATHILDA ON PAGE 2.

 

Harry snorted and threw the new copy of the Daily Prophet into the trash bin. He'd told Kreacher a thousand times not to buy that stupid rag, but the old house elf never listened. He felt that Harry needed to keep up to date, which was just plain stupid. It wasn't like he actually cared what lies they printed about him any longer.

 

At first it might have been almost funny to read their new theories and speculations of his whereabouts, but even that had worn off. They really got the most ridiculous ideas. One day he was seen in the USA, working for the Macusa and a week later someone claimed to have met him in France, where he now taught at Beauxbatons. If only the wizarding public knew the truth.

 

Because the truth, sad as it may be, was that Harry hadn't left England. He hadn't even left his house in almost a year. After the end of the war he had dutifully attended all the funerals and official Ministry functions. He had smiled and shaken hands with hundreds of people and nodded politely when they thanked him for ridding the world of Voldemort. For winning the war for them. He'd played his part well, the charming Saviour, the dashing hero, when in truth he'd been screaming inside.

 

Once it was all over, the last casualties buried and memorials unveiled, the last death eaters sent to Azkaban, once he, Ron and Hermione had accepted their Order of Merlin, first class from new Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, he'd felt ready to sleep for a week. It had all been too much. The way people worshipped him and looked to him for guidance. The overwhelming grief over all the lives that had been lost. All the people who had died. For him.

 

Harry hadn't been able to take it. So he had turned down Shacklebolt's offer to join Auror training. Just as he had turned down McGonagall's offer to return to Hogwarts and retake his NEWTs and Molly's offer to stay at the Burrow. All he had wanted was some peace and quiet. Some time to himself, where he didn't have to pretend to be okay. So he had gone back to Grimmauld Place.

 

Hermione had helped him renew the protections and wards, to make sure that no-one would bother him there. She had also offered to stay with him. As had Ron. But Harry had waved them off. They had tried again, once they were back from Australia, where they had visited Hermione's parents. And again he had sent them away. Just like all the times after that. He didn't want their concern. He just wanted to be alone. They hadn't understood. Probably still didn't. But after a while they had given up on trying.

 

Ginny had been easier in a way. She had shown up on his doorstep, wanting to continue where they had left off. Wanting to fix him. After Harry had told her in no uncertain words that he just didn't have any romantic feelings for her any longer, she had run off with tears in her eyes and never come back. He'd felt only slightly guilty. At least he'd been honest. Even if Ron hadn't talked to him for a month after that.

 

Most of his other friends had taken their cue from Ron and Hermione and stopped bothering him after a while. Luna had probably been the most persistent. She still dropped by every now and then. But at least she never tried to make him talk. She would sit next to him, sipping her tea and telling him about the new creatures her father had discovered and her own travels. She never commented about the state of his house, or his clothes. Never tried to get him to leave the house or start doing something productive with his life. He really appreciated her for that.

 

Aside from Luna he probably hadn't come into contact with another human in over six month. Which suited him just fine. He liked staying at Grimmauld Place, walking through the house at odd hours or sleeping the whole day away on those rare occasions when he wasn't plagued by nightmares. Sometimes he only went to bed in the morning and then had breakfast instead of lunch. Kreacher did the shopping for him and sometimes kept him company. He had freed the old house elf shortly after the war, but Kreacher had chosen to stay and Harry was secretly glad for it.

 

He knew that he couldn't go on like this forever. He hadn't chosen to come back from the brink of death for this. But he just felt so tired of it all. Everyone just expected him to move on with his life. To be okay again. Only he didn't know how. He didn't know how everyone else did it. It was only a little over a year since the war had ended and already people were going about their lives like nothing had happened.

 

Hermione had suggested that he should see a mind healer. He'd gotten angry and shouted at her, even though he knew she only meant well. But he couldn't talk about his experiences. Especially not with some stranger, who had no idea what it felt like to live in fear. To run for your live every day. To have Voldemort in your head. What it felt like to know that other people had died for you.

 

With a sigh he dragged himself off the couch and shuffled into the kitchen to make some tea. He had no idea what time it was and he didn't really care. Taking his mug over to the table he stopped dead in his tracks. There was a letter lying innocently on his kitchen table. Which wouldn't be so unusual, if it weren't for the fact that Harry never got mail these days. He'd changed the wards about six month ago, fed up with all the well-meaning letters he was receiving. No owl was able to penetrate them now. Just like his floo was locked off. Anyone visiting had to use the door and there were only a handful of people who even knew where he lived.

 

He called for Kreacher, but the stubborn little elf chose to ignore him. Knowing that it was impossible to find him when he didn't want to be found, Harry gave up and slumped down in his chair. After a slight hesitation he reached for the letter and opened it. The flowing script looked slightly familiar, but he couldn't place it and paused with a frown. He'd expected the letter to be from Ron or Hermione or maybe Mrs. Weasley. Shrugging to himself, he began to read.

 

 

_Dear Harry,_

 

_I'm sorry to bother you, but I do hope you take the time to read this. Though I'm not even sure why I'm writing to you._

 

_First I want to assure you that I won't tell anyone where you are. I know there is a reason why you're hiding away at Number twelve, Grimmauld Place. I can understand your need to hide away from the world. I feel the same need. Like you, I'm living alone in a big, empty house, with only my house elf for company. And the ghosts of the past, of course. Do you have those as well? Not tangible ghosts, like those at Hogwarts, mind you. But shadows and memories. And regrets. Those are the worst, wouldn't you agree?_

 

_There are days when I feel like a prisoner here. Like I'm suffocating and the walls are closing in around me. But the thought of venturing out into the world again is just too terrifying for words. This house has become my sanctuary. And my cage. Maybe you know the feeling. Maybe this is the reason I'm writing to you. Because I think you might understand. Do you?_

 

 

There was no name. The letter was signed with: _Just a broken boy_. Somehow those four words made Harry wince in sympathy. Because they described perfectly how he felt about himself as well.

 

He sat there for a long time, staring at the neatly written lines. He had no idea who might have sent him that letter. But the sender had been right about one thing - Harry did understand. He understood about the ghosts of the past haunting you and he understood about regrets. He regretted so many things. After what felt like hours he finally got up and threw the letter into the trash bin. A few minutes later he fished it out again and hid it away in a drawer instead.

 

When Kreacher finally showed up again, he claimed to know nothing about a letter. And since he was a free elf and therefore not really bound to obey Harry's orders, he couldn't be forced to tell the truth. So Harry dropped the subject and decided to forget about the letter.

 

Which he still hadn't managed a few days later, when he entered the kitchen to find another letter waiting for him. Once again Kreacher was suspiciously absent. Harry was almost sure that the elf had something to do with those letters. He'd re-checked the wards, just to be sure and found that they still kept owls away. They also prevented anyone from simply apparating into the house or entering by floo.

 

With a resigned sigh Harry opened the new letter and settled down to read.

 

 

_Dear Harry,_

 

_I'm not even sure if you've read my first letter or if you just burned it on sight. I wouldn't be surprised, actually. And yet I'm writing again. Stupid, isn't it? I can vividly imagine what my friends would say if they knew. And don't even get me started on my mother. But I suppose it doesn't matter, since I'm not talking to either of them right now. Haven't been for a while, truth be told._

 

_They just don't understand. They all want to fix me, you know? They think I can just miraculously be better. Go on with my life, like nothing has happened. But what if I can't be fixed? What if I'm broken beyond repair?_

 

_I wonder how they all do it. How do they manage to forget the horrors of the war and move on? How can you ever get over something like this?_

 

_I certainly can't. I still have nightmares. All the time. And even when I'm awake, I feel like the shadows of the past are haunting me. Mocking me for surviving, only to end up like this. Afraid of the world. Hiding in this house, like a scared little boy. And I feel like a scared little boy most of the time now. More scared than I ever remember being as a child. I was a spoiled little brat, you must know. I lived a very sheltered life, although it wasn't perfect. It certainly didn't prepare me for the horrors life had in store for me. Nothing could have prepared me for that._

 

_Sorry, I don't mean to bore you with my sad story. And I didn't mean to whine. You have your own demons to battle, I'm sure. And you're probably not even reading this. Or are you?_

 

_Just a broken boy_

 

 

Harry read and re-read the letter a few times. It was strange. He had no idea who this boy was and yet he felt a strong connection to him. Because he could sense himself in every word the other wrote. And even though he felt bad about it, he took strange comfort in the fact that there was someone out there who actually understood how he felt. Who seemed just as lost and broken as he was.

 

He put the letter into the drawer with the other one and went back to his daily routine of wandering around the house, looking at Sirius' old photos and sitting in the library, going through the old tomes generations of Blacks had collected. He even managed to change into somewhat clean clothes today. He'd have to do laundry soon. Kreacher was a good cook and managed to clean the dishes every few days, but he was absolutely useless when it came to other housework.

 

When the next letter arrived another four days later, Harry actually smiled and went to open it immediately.

 

 

_Dear Harry,_

 

_you must be getting fed up with me by now, I suppose. I don't even know why I keep writing to you. For lack of something better to do? I just know that I actually like writing these letters. It makes me feel better somehow. Weird, isn't it?_

 

_I think I've told you more about myself than I ever told my friends, in just two letters. I'm usually not this open about my feelings, you must know. When my mother suggested that I should see a mind healer, I actually yelled at her. I'm a horrible son, I know. And I know she only meant well, but… the thought of talking about my experiences with some stranger was just… unacceptable. It's somehow easier to write it down. I know, I could simply start a diary. Maybe I should do that and stop bothering you with my ramblings. But the thought that you might read this… I don't know. It holds a certain appeal, I think. To interact with someone again, even if it's just through a letter._

 

_I should really start leaving the house again. Contact my friends. Or at least my mother. But I can't bring myself to do it. Yesterday I actually had my hand on the door handle. But then I felt a wave of panic wash over me and had to pull back. Can you imagine that? Just the thought of going outside had me shaking and breaking a cold sweat. I don't even know why it terrifies me so. But it does. So I stay cooped up in this big, old, empty house. It's pathetic, I know._

 

_I shouldn't tell you all this. I'm terribly sorry to bother you. I should really stop writing these letters._

 

_Just a broken boy_

 

 

Harry felt a new wave of compassion for the unknown sender. Whoever this boy was, he had so much in common with Harry. He understood. And the thought that he might actually stop writing to him made Harry feel cold. Until those letters had started arriving he hadn't even realized just how lonely he felt. Which was stupid, considering that he'd pushed everyone away. Then again, they just didn't get it. And this boy did.

 

Following an impulse, Harry got up and headed upstairs to the library. He took a seat at the desk in the corner and pulled out parchment and ink. Hesitating only briefly, he started to write:

 

 

_Dear… whoever you are,_

 

_I'm not good with words. Never have been. Though I guess writing is a little easier than talking. At least I don't have to look at you, while I stumble over my words. So I'm sorry if what I'm writing isn't as eloquent as the stuff you write. I don't even know if you'll get this letter, since I have no idea who you are._

 

_But I wanted to thank you. For writing to me. For telling me all that stuff about yourself. Because I do understand. Everything you told me, I understand. Hermione wanted me to see a mind healer as well and I yelled at her. I can't talk about the war. Not even with my friends. They didn't get it, despite the fact that they were with me most of the time. They want me to move on and I just don't know how. All their well-meaning advice was driving me nuts. So I was mean to them, until they finally stopped bothering me. And now I'm lonely, but I still don't want to see them. How stupid is that?_

 

_I know how you feel, hiding away from the world. I just can't take the way everyone stares at me. How they all worship me. I've always hated this fame and it's only gotten worse. I can't be what they see in me. I never could._

 

_So I hide here, even though I never really liked Grimmauld Place. It's dark and stuffy and yes, it feels haunted, too. And it's dirty, since I can't work up the energy to clean it properly and my house elf is ancient and doesn't like cleaning things._

 

_But this house is the only thing I have left of my godfather. He hated it, too. Hated being stuck here. But it holds a lot of memories of him. And I miss him so much it hurts. He was the closest thing to a parent I've ever known._

 

_Sorry for bothering you with all that. You don't have to read it, you know. You can tell me if you don't want me to write to you. But please, don't stop writing to me._

 

_Harry_

 

 

Once finished he sat there for a long time, staring at the letter. His handwriting wasn't neat or tidy and he'd smudged the ink in some places. Maybe this mystery boy would wrinkle his nose. Maybe he'd even laugh or sent the letter to the Daily Prophet. But it was a risk Harry was willing to take. As long as he didn't lose this bit of human contact again.

 

He finally went in search of Kreacher and handed the letter over, once he'd found the house elf.

 

"Can you get this delivered for me? I'm not sure who to address it to. I've been receiving letters from him, but he didn't tell me his name."

 

"Kreacher will make sure it's delivered." the elf promised, fuelling Harry's suspicion that he knew more about his mysterious pen-pal.

But questioning the old house elf had never gotten him far, so he simply nodded.

 

He didn't have to wait long for the next letter to arrive. When he spied it lying on the kitchen table he smiled and once again opened it immediately.

 

 

_Dear Harry,_

 

_you should give yourself more credit. You're not bad with words, you know? I admit I was surprised to discover that you've really read my letters. And you even took the time to answer. Thank you._

 

_I'm sorry about your godfather. I can't even begin to imagine what it must have been like for you to lose him._

 

_I lost my father and I'm still unsure how I feel about his death. We've always had a complicated relationship, you know? He was a difficult man and very strict. But I know that he loved me. In his own way. I can however relate to your trouble with Grimmauld Place. I already told you that I'm living alone in a huge house. My mother moved away after the war. I couldn't. I hate this house, that holds so many dark memories of the war. But it also holds fond memories of my childhood, so I feel like I can't simply leave. I think it's a lot like the relationship with my father. Part love and part hate. Does that make sense?_

 

_I can also relate to the dirty bit. My house elf does the best she can, but it's a huge house and I'm no help at all. I spend most of my days sitting in the library, buried in books. I've always loved to read. It's the only comfort I have._

 

_Some days I don't even change out of my nightclothes, although I always feel guilty for it. I keep imagining my mother frowning at me and telling me what a slob I am. And yet I can't muster the energy to dress properly. What for, if I'm not setting foot out of the house anyway?_

 

_Looking forward to your reply._

_Just a broken boy_

 

 

Harry looked down at his own, faded pyjama bottoms and smiled ruefully, once again amazed how much he had in common with the other boy. He read the letter again and then took it upstairs to the library, placing it in the desk drawer where he had now stashed the others, before pulling out parchment and ink.

 

 

_Dear friend,_

 

_is it okay if I call you that? I have no idea how to address you. Won't you tell me your name?_

 

_I know what you mean about lounging around in pyjamas. I do it, too. Which reminds me that I really need to do my laundry. I ran out of clean socks yesterday and even my house elf is starting to give me funny looks. Hermione would lecture me if she knew._

 

_I'm sorry about your father. Even if your relationship was complicated, he was still your dad. I'm sure his death must affect you._

 

_You probably know that I grew up with my Muggle aunt and uncle. I didn't have a very nice childhood. They hated me for being a wizard. They were pretty nasty to me. And yet, I think I'd be sad to hear that they died. Family is complicated, right?_

 

_Not that I've ever had a proper family. The Weasleys are probably the closest thing to a family I have. And I haven't spoken to any of them in months. I just can't. They want me to move on and be okay and I just don't know how to do that. I know they mean well, but I just can't take their concern._

 

_And then there's the thing with Ginny. I broke up with her, you know? Before the war really started. And when it was all over she thought we'd get back together. Everyone thought that. But I don't want to be with her anymore. I think I hurt her pretty badly when I told her so. Ron was furious with me. And I feel bad about it, but what was I supposed to do? Marry her, because everyone thinks that's what I should do?_

 

_I'm so sick and tired of always doing what's expected of me. I never got to decide what I want. I never even had time to really think about what I want to do with my life. Okay, back at Hogwarts I might have thought I'd marry Ginny and start a family of my own. It was a nice thought. And yet it feels wrong. Like I'd be living the life of someone else. Shit, I'm not making sense. Sorry._

 

_Harry_

 

 

He debated with himself for a long time, but finally folded the letter and gave it to Kreacher to send. The other boy had told him personal things as well. And it felt good to get it all off his chest. Especially that thing with Ginny. He hadn't talked to anyone about their failed relationship. Ron and Hermione wouldn't have understood. And who else did he have?

 

He was almost afraid that he might have put the other boy off, but he needn't have worried. The reply arrived just a day later. Harry ripped open the envelope eagerly, surprised at how much he had come to look forward to these letters in such a short time.

 

 

_Dear Harry,_

 

_I'd be honoured if you called me friend. But I'm not ready to tell you my name, so call me whatever you like._

 

_Have you done your laundry then? My house elf is very exasperated with me, too. She thinks I need to go out. Even gave me a lecture yesterday. Another lecture that is. Do you know how humiliating it is to get lectured by your house elf?_

 

_You're making a lot of sense, I think. The wizarding world made you their poster boy. A prophecy dictated your future. Dumbledore himself made sure you followed the path they all had chosen for you. You were their perfect, little soldier. The Chosen One. You never had any say in the matter, did you? Did anyone ever really ask you what you want? Did they ever give you a choice?_

 

_We were only kids. It's not fair that they forced us to fight in this war. That they forced us to choose sides and do impossible things. I shouldn't complain. Compared to you I had it easy. Although my path was chosen for me as well._

 

_And if you don't really love Ginny, it was the only right thing to break up with her. You shouldn't marry her just because everyone expects it of you. You of all people should have earned the right to do what you want._

 

_I know what I'm talking about. As a pureblood it was always expected of me to marry some pureblood girl and continue the line. It's my duty. My father drilled that into me early on. How shocked would he be to discover that I have no intention of marrying? That I don't even fancy girls? He's probably rotating in his grave. My mother will be shocked as well, when I finally work up the nerve to tell her. But I promised myself that I would never do anything against my will. Never again. I don't know if I can ever find happiness. But I do know that I won't find it with a girl. And I don't give a damn what anyone else thinks of that._

 

_I hope I haven't scared you off now._

_Just a broken boy_

 

 

Harry read the letter three times and then continued to sit there, lost in thought. He was more than ever wondering who his mystery pen-pal might be. A pureblood, probably around his age. His father was dead and his mother had moved away. He didn't keep track of the wizarding world, so that last fact didn't help much. He was living in a huge house, with a house elf. Not surprising for a pureblood. Harry's thoughts settled on one boy in particular pretty quickly, but he dismissed the idea just as fast. It couldn't be… But why was he still refusing to tell him his name?

 

Finally shaking off those thoughts, he grabbed his quill.

 

 

_Dear friend,_

 

_you really need to tell me your name, or else I'll have to start making up names for you. I could call you pumpkin, for example._

 

_Really, what are you afraid of? I won't stop writing to you, no matter who you are. I promise. I really look forward to your letters. I haven't interacted with anyone in a long time. I didn't even realize how much I missed it, until you started writing to me. And it's shocking how well you understand me. Ron and Hermione just don't get me anymore. But you do. How can you understand me, when my two best friends can't?_

 

_And yes, I did my laundry. And I'm wearing fresh, clean clothes today. Are you proud of me?_

 

_To answer your question: No, I don't think anyone ever asked me if I was okay with fighting Voldemort. It was just something I had to do. Something I was destined for, ever since I survived that first killing curse as a baby. And did you know that it could just as well have been Neville? The prophecy didn't state my name or anything. It only said a boy born in July, so it could just as well have meant Neville. Dumbledore once said that Voldemort decided to believe it meant me. He chose to kill my parents. So it's all his fault. He got me into this mess._

 

_And as you can see, you didn't scare me off. I don't mind that you're bent. Actually… I never gave that much thought, you know? I mostly had other things on my mind._

 

_I was attracted to Cho, because… I don't really know. Because she was a good seeker? Because she's pretty? No idea. It didn't last anyway. To tell you the truth, I only wanted to get rid of her again after one date. I never understood her. And she was crying all the time. That was really annoying. And she wanted to talk about Cedric and that was totally awkward._

 

_And then there was Ginny. She was funny and nice to hang out with. I already knew her, so that made things easier. At least for a while. But… looking back now, I think I might have been attracted to a boy at one point. I'm not sure. I'm terrible with feelings and stuff. How did you know that you like boys?_

 

_Harry_

 

 

Again he felt slightly embarrassed of just how much he'd shared about himself. But he sent the letter anyway and then waited anxiously for the reply. This time his mystery pen-pal took two days to write back, setting him on edge and Harry sighed in relief when he finally spied the letter on his kitchen table.

 

 

_Dear Harry,_

 

_pumpkin, really? Is that the best you can come up with? But, no. I still won't tell you my name. Because no matter what you say, you'll stop writing once you know._

 

_I'm not… good. I haven't been on the right side in the war. I made so many mistakes and there's no chance you can ever forgive me. Maybe that's enough to make you stop writing already. Although you're a stubborn bastard, aren't you?_

 

_I'm wearing fresh, clean clothes today as well. My house elf seemed grudgingly pleased._

 

_I never knew that the prophecy didn't exactly point to you. So it could just as well have been Longbottom? Damn, no offence, but the wizarding world would have been doomed. I mean, I know what he did in the war. I know he grew up to be really brave and all and that he's sort of a hero now, too. But do you remember the Longbottom from first year?_

 

_Okay, so you didn't seriously date Cho Chang because she was a good seeker, did you? Please tell me that was a joke. And she wasn't even such a good seeker to begin with. She had nothing on you. Then again, no-one did._

 

_How did I know that I'm gay? Easy - I've never really been attracted to girls. I tried to be, believe me. I even made out with a few, but that never did anything for me. So if you actually enjoyed snogging your ex-girlfriends and whatever else you did with them, you're not gay. Bisexual, maybe._

 

_What about that boy you might have been attracted to? Did you ever wonder what it would be like to kiss him? Stare at his arse, maybe? Had a naughty dream about him? And what did you say was his name again?_

 

_Just a broken boy_

 

 

The letter made Harry grin. And once again he wondered if his mystery pen-pal might actually be who he was thinking of. Some of those sentences sounded a lot like him, that was for sure. He'd called Neville by his last name. And he had obviously been on Voldemort's side. Harry was surprised to realize that he didn't mind. He even hoped he was right in his assumptions.

 

Pushing that thought aside for now he concentrated on those other questions. He had certainly dreamed about that boy back in sixth year. Quite a few times, actually. And now that he thought about it, he remembered one particular dream, that had left him flushed and shaking (and terribly aroused). A dream which he'd banned to the very back of his mind, vowing to never think about it again. Back then it had been just too confusing. Too improbable to even consider.

 

He hadn't really wondered about kissing another boy. But now that he allowed himself to think about it, he did wonder what it might feel like. And he wasn't repulsed by the idea. Actually it was kind of intriguing.

 

 

_Dear idiot,_

 

_because that's what you are. I already told you I won't stop writing, no matter who you are. So you were a death eater? Doesn't matter. The war is over and all that shit should be in the past. Actually… I think I might know who you are. So get over yourself and tell me your name already._

 

_Maybe Neville would have become a hero sooner, if he'd been in my place. Who knows? He was always brave. Even back in first year. And if he'd had Ron and Hermione to back him up… I wouldn't have been able to defeat Voldemort without their help, you know? I would probably be long dead without them. And I don't think I ever properly thanked them. Instead I insulted them and pushed them away. I'm a shitty friend._

 

_I already told you, I'm not sure why I wanted to date Cho. I only know that I regretted it. And while it was a nice try, I'm not telling you who the boy was. The one I was probably attracted to. I can keep secrets, too._

 

_I am however pretty sure now that I'm bisexual. I mean, I had a certain dream about that boy once and the thought of kissing a guy doesn't exactly put me off. I don't think I ever stared at his arse, but I watched him a lot. He had really beautiful eyes and nice hair. And I didn't really like snogging Cho. But snogging Ginny was nice._

 

_Did you get another lecture from your house elf? Mine keeps eyeing me weirdly. But he's really old and a bit batty, so maybe I shouldn't think too much by it._

 

_Harry_

 

 

Smiling to himself he folded up the letter and gave it to Kreacher to send. The house elf seemed wary of his good mood and kept muttering about his master's dwindling sanity under his breath. Harry just snorted. Like Kreacher had any right to speculate on other people's sanity. He returned to the library to read and dream the day away and was pleased to find a new letter waiting for him only a day later.

 

 

_Dear Harry,_

 

_hasn't anyone ever told you that insulting people is bad form? Don't they teach you Gryffindors any manners?_

 

_I shall overlook it this time. And no, I'm still not telling you my name. I'm sure you have no idea who I really am. You wouldn't still be writing to me if you did._

 

_I still think we would have been doomed if Longbottom had been in your place. But what do I know about Gryffindors? Do you really think your friends would have flocked to him instead of you? Do you ever wonder what your life might have been like?_

 

_I know all about being a shitty friend, as you so eloquently put it. I pushed my friends away as well and I bet I haven't been as nice about it as you. But they wanted to fix me. Especially my best friend. Once she'd gotten over the fact that I'm bent and won't ever marry her, that is._

 

_Sometimes I kind of miss her. Don't get me wrong, she can be a real bitch. And she made mistakes as well. But she'd always had my back. She even pretended to date me, so my father would back off. And you want to know how I thanked her? By threatening to hex her, the last time she was here._

 

_Really beautiful eyes? Nice hair? Honestly? Yes, I think it's safe to say that you're at least partially gay. I don't think any straight man would ever sprout a line like that. And since snogging your ex was only nice…_

 

_So tell me about that dream. Since you won't tell me who it was about. Was it very explicit? Did it make you all hot and bothered? And what is that supposed to mean - the thought of kissing a guy doesn't exactly put you off? Would you simply tolerate it? Or do you find yourself fantasizing about it?_

 

_Yes, I did receive another lecture from my house elf. About eating my vegetables. Can you believe it? How old am I - four? She has no respect. And I can't even threaten her with clothes, since I already gave her clothes months ago. But she decided to stay and pester me._

 

_Just a broken boy_

 

 

Harry laughed out loud, startling Kreacher who was just doing the dishes and paused to give him a sideways glance. Harry grinned at him and took his letter upstairs. He heard Kreacher muttering something, but paid him no mind.

 

 

_Dear cowardly idiot,_

 

_I'll keep insulting you all I want, until you finally man up and tell me your name. Come on, it's not that hard._

 

_Believe me, I wasn't exactly nice about pushing my friends away either. I think I almost made Hermione cry that one time. And she's really tough. I also think Ginny did cry. At least Ron said so. He was so pissed. I thought he might hit me._

 

_Yes, I did wonder what my life would have been like, if Neville had been the boy-who-lived instead of me. Would my parents have survived? What if I had grown up with them? Would I still be the same boy I am now? What about Sirius? Without my parents being murdered, he wouldn't have ended up in Azkaban. But those are a lot of what ifs. And I don't know what might have happened._

 

_Yes, that boy had beautiful eyes. And you just have no sense for romance. Stupid prat. I'm not telling you anything about that dream. No way. And about the kissing … I think I'd like to kiss a boy. I think I would have liked to kiss him. Maybe I still do._

 

_Well, I hope you're being a good boy and eating your vegetables then, to prevent another lecture. I would have loved to have seen that. I freed my house elf too, you know? But he decided to stay as well. Although I think he mostly wanted to stay at Grimmauld Place and not really with me. He thinks I'm insane. Like he's one to talk._

 

_Tell me your name._

_Harry_

 

 

Harry's good mood held throughout the day and he even managed to get some cleaning done. He felt more alive ever since the letters had started arriving. He wasn't ready to venture outside yet, but he felt like he was finally getting better. Interacting with his mystery pen-pal had lifted his spirits and broken the monotony that had been his life for the past year. If only he'd finally get his suspicions confirmed about who the other boy was.

 

Once again the reply to his letter was immediate and Harry opened it excitedly.

 

 

_Dear ignorant moron,_

 

_I can't believe I'm sinking to your level, but there you have it. How does it feel to be insulted?_

 

_So you almost made your friend Granger cry? Wow, quite an accomplishment, I think. I have to grudgingly agree with you that she's tough. I would have thought she'd punch you, rather than break down in tears. And Weasley should have been grateful that you didn't lead his sister on._

 

_You're right. All those what ifs don't get you anywhere. I've been asking myself a thousand of those questions as well. What if I had chosen differently? What if I hadn't become a death eater? I guess in the end it doesn't matter. We made our choices and now we have to live with them._

 

_I'll have you know that I'm very romantic. I just don't sound like a stupid romance novel. There's a fine difference. And why won't you tell me about that dream? Come on, don't be a prude. I'll tell you one of mine in exchange. Are you still hung up on that boy then? When exactly did you fancy him?_

 

_I'm glad my insolent house elf managed to amuse you. I should have told her to iron her ears. But then again, she doesn't really have to obey, does she? Now that I freed her? I really should have thought this through, before giving her clothes._

 

_And no, still not telling you my name. I enjoy our little letter exchange too much. Sorry._

_Just a broken boy_

 

 

Harry rolled his eyes. Stubborn bastard. Why couldn't he give in already? Harry just wanted to know his name. Just wanted to be sure he was really who Harry thought he was. With an impatient sigh he grabbed his quill.

 

 

_Dear ridiculous coward,_

 

_I'm sure you can do a lot better when it comes to insults. Want to prove me right?_

 

_I think Ron felt that I had been leading Ginny on. When I first broke up with her, I told her it was because of the war. Because I had to go and hunt down Horcruxes and it wouldn't be fair to make her wait for me. I think it was only an excuse, even back then. Being with her had stopped feeling so comfortable. I wonder why that is. Do you think it had something to do with that boy?_

 

_I enjoy your letters as well. They're the first thing that made me smile in weeks. It's like you shook me out of this dark trance. Made me want to start over. I'm not nearly ready to leave my house again, mind you. But I think I might be getting there. And I have you to thank for that. So why don't you tell me your name already? I'm pretty sure I know who you are. And it's okay. Really. Let's leave the past behind us. Let's_

 

_Come and visit me. Let's talk in person. You don't even have to go outside. I'll open the floo for you. Please. I don't want to be alone anymore. Come and visit me. We could have tea. Tomorrow, four o'clock? I'll be waiting. And I promise it'll be fine. Please._

 

_Harry_

 

 

He put down the quill with trembling fingers. It had been a spontaneous idea. But now that he thought about it, he really wanted the other boy to come. They could help each other move on. He was sure of it. They had helped each other already. Still shaking slightly with nerves he handed the letter to Kreacher and told him to get it delivered immediately.

 

"And then you need to go shopping. I'm expecting a visitor tomorrow. I'll need some sweets. Maybe a cake. Chocolate."

 

He remembered how fond the other boy had been of chocolate. Remembered the sweets he'd always gotten from his mother.

 

"Whatever master requires." Kreacher answered and Harry swore he saw him grin.

 

Harry suddenly felt too excited to sit around, so he did his best to get some cleaning done, wanting the house to look… well, at least not as shabby as it usually did. He spent the whole day getting at least the kitchen and living room somewhat presentable and started on the library the next day. There was no answering letter and Harry got more and more nervous with every passing hour.

 

When the clock chimed three he started pacing in front of the fireplace and casting a tempus charm every five minutes. Would he come? What if he didn't? What if he'd ruined everything? He couldn't lose the other boy. Not now.

 

At two minutes past four his floo chimed and Harry whirled to face the fireplace, his heart hammering like he'd run a marathon. And then a slender, blond boy stepped out of the green flames and looked at him cautiously. Harry felt relief flooding his body and grinned.

 

"You came."

"You… you really knew it was me?"

"Of course I did. It's always been you, Draco."

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had some trouble with the formatting, so sorry for the huge gaps.


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